Goodnight, girl
by Anuna
Summary: She told him she needs a little time, however knowing what she really needs has never been harder. Eli/Ria and Cal/Gillian.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Goodnight, girl

**Pairings:** Loker/Torres, Lightman/Foster

**Rating:** T

**Genre:** romance and drama

**Spoilers:** for season two, especially Darkness and light.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own these characters or this show. Fanfiction writing brings me only fun, and no profit.

**Author's notes:** I fell for this show in record time and then fell in love with Torres and Loker and their banter and push - and - pull of their dynamic. Then I ended up with this story. I hope you'll enjoy it. Reviews are always loved and very much appreciated :) This fic wouldn't happen without _perpetually_ and _vickysg1_, who are both amazing people, and I love them more than words could possibly describe :)

* * *

Things that change your life are most likely to happen when you don't expect them. Eli always believed that. There's beer in his hand, and the bar is half full, the music lost to his ears. It's the same damn bar where he kissed her, and he tries not to think about that. They look like carefree young people in the mirror behind the bar, and he reminds himself to be happy that she's here with him. Some things aren't meant to have, Ria Torres is one of them. He can be content with what he's got, though.

He lets her play him. It's not like he has to try, because in their little game, she's usually two steps ahead, and he's usually busy figuring her out, like tea leaves in his cup. Sometimes he admits to himself he's not about to stop her, because that is, anyway, the best he will get. He's aware that he's selling himself short, that it won't lead anywhere in particular, but sometimes, he cracks a joke and she laughs, a true, open laugh. It always sounds like getting a main prize.

Questions she doesn't expect work the best, and he tends to be unpredictable with his wide range of interests. He likes surprising her, because seeing her caught without a mask is so precious.

"So. What do you think, in which Hogwarts house I'd be sorted in?" he asks and she almost snorts her drink through her nose, she definitely didn't see that one coming.

"Excuse me?"

"Hogwarts. Wizards, elves, Voldemort? Harry Potter?" he helps and amusement seizes the hold of her expression.

She sits upright, regarding him in that way that's uniquely hers, calm face and penetrating eyes.

"Eli Loker, are you telling me you're a Harry Potter nerd?" she asks and he gives her a sheepish look.

"You make it sound like a bad thing."

"How old are you, again?"

He smirks lightly, "Old enough."

The moment and the smile lingers, and he thinks, he can almost read that thought hidden in the corner of her eye, in laugh – wrinkles.

"Slytherin," she says suddenly and makes his jaw drop, although he should have expected that.

"Slytherin?" he repeats, it's definitely not the answer he was going for.

"Admit it, Loker. You want to be famous, you have very high opinion about your knowledge, and the goal matters more than the means attitude," she says.

"But you forgot the bravery," he teases.

"Oh, please."

"What, now? You're saying I'm not brave?"

"A mighty mouse," she's playing with the straw in her drink, distracting him momentarily from a witty answer. His mouth quirks up,

"I think it's safe to say you just described yourself. What? Don't like sharing a house with me?" the words are faster than his brain, and when she raises her eyebrows he realizes just what he had said.

She rolls her eyes at him and ignores the obvious implication of his own words.

"You're sure you'd share with a Slytherin like me?" there's a wicked grin spreading on her face, one he likes too much. "A house no less?"

Heck, he'd share with her a lot of things. And she can be bad, or pretend to be that way, and he would still share, because deep down he's a soft; soft enough for her to push but not break him.

"Depends," he says and she is about to continue teasing him.

Before she can speak his cellphone rings. It's Lightman.

"Oi, Loker. Get your arse here and bring Torres with you," he says. Eli wonders if Lightman has cameras stacked even here, on top of the bar, or in the corner, or he simply knows _everything_. That could be entirely possible. Before he can say anything Ria already knows who's calling and what he's asking, and she's picking up her coat. Their hands brush as they walk through the door. Eli leaves the sharing for some other time.

* * *

Forty hours later, he is beaten up. Again.

It's becoming a habit. Perhaps he is becoming reckless, but he couldn't allow that guy to touch Ria. He was twice Eli's size, and bringing Eli down wasn't a problem for him at all, but right now all that matters is that Eli could read him well enough to lure the heat of his anger onto himself. That's how he ended up like this. He's sitting in his little work corner, in a lowered chair, with a cut lip and head that hurts like hell, and possibly bruised ribs. He is enjoying the view, though.

Ria. Her eyes. God, his head is spinning.

She isn't very gentle. There's a streak of anger on her face, covering fear. There are tissues and wet washcloth on his crammed desk. He takes the icepack from her hand, wondering if there's a bruise on his eye. She smirks. It's still fake.

"You've got interesting timing," she says, eyes intently on his face, and he wouldn't mind that, really, in any other situation.

"What 're you talkin' 'bout?" his eloquence isn't at his best. There's still too much adrenaline rushing through his system, enough for him to run. She purses her lips and the smirk melts into a genuine smile, just for a moment, before she masks it, but he is content because he caught it.

"Hey, you manned up," she says, the lightness of her tone false, coming up with a washcloth. "I'm proud of you, Loker."

"No, you just like seeing me hurt," he closes his eyes because it's pounding in his head. That guy hit him with force of a freight train.

"That's not very kind of you," she says, her voice somewhat softer and he cracks his eyes open, because he wants to see her expression. It's not what he hopes for, but not bad either. She's frowning in concentration and he doesn't mind having Ria Torres concentrating on him. Her fingers trace his cheek, fascination and intent and fear etched on her face. He winces. "That was incredibly stupid,"she says.

"Lightman does it all the time," he answers and his head feels weird.

"Lightman has a thick head."

There is something they're not talking about.

"And I don't?"

She laughs, somewhere between amused and defensive as she's trying not to let something else slip out from her control. It's a fine line to walk, one he doesn't particularly care to cross, because he doesn't want to think about _what if_.

What if he didn't piss off their captor enough, what if he decided to take his anger on Ria, what if he called in his buddies and did things which...

Her hand is soft and warm on his cheek. His eyes snap to her, she is okay, she is safe, they are safe. He breathes.

"You're lightweight," she says, sighs, patting his lip with the washcloth and she's much gentler this time around. "A boy – man. Imitating Lightman is dangerous stuff. You should have learned that."

"A boy – man," he repeats with faked amusement, leaning deeper in the big chair, not sure what's doing him in. He swallows, not acting then and there wasn't an option. His head doesn't feel like it's screwed on straight, but he catches her hand and they grin at one another, just a little, and he thinks of _that_ night, when he told her three truths. She read him flawlessly. That was probably an idiot plan, because there's no way going back on knowing how it actually feels to fall asleep with her in his arms. But he doesn't have to admit that she can push him out of his comfort zone, and push his buttons, just as easy as Lightman can. He can live with it. He _can_ live with it.

They're made of same piece of clay, she and Lightman. To her, being loyal to Lightman isn't such steep climb.

Her face hovers above his, her eyes dark and huge, and he'd be damned if he can really read her. However, she _can_ read him.

He doesn't really care about this difference in advantage.

"Boy – man," she repeats, tip of her finger set delicately atop of his lips. He can barely feel it, and he hates it. He hates being _barely there_, almost sneaking under her radar and finding a way behind that proverbial wall, hates that stubbornly present line she drew between them, and purses his lips just to feel little bit more of it. She lets him, actually lets him, before her hand floats away, too slowly, and she's just watching, and damn if he's not holding his breath when she's looking at him like that.

And then it happens. He'd wanted it ever since that night, only, it's a moment of bliss before his lower lip starts protesting and he has to pull away. She smirks, her forehead against his.

"That hurt," he says.

"Yeah, like you said," she shrugs, "I like seeing you hurt."

"That's a lie," he doesn't miss a beat, even as her voice is an immaculate flat line and not even a hitch gives her away.

That, because she learned how to lie from the best. He can see her pupils, huge and dark and smell her breath. It's too close to be a lie.

"Are you willing to take a chance on that?" she asks, hands on arm handles, bracing around him. His hands settle on her hips, warm, secure, and he feels grounded. The world around him stops spinning and then there's only her, and she's safe. That's all that matters, and there's just a tiny amount of pride, for being there to defend her, and even though it hurts, he'd do it again and again. A small smile escapes him, upward curl of a lip, and he sees the same on her face a moment before he closes his eyes and kisses her.

It's slow; slow and wet and hot and somehow she manages to avoid his cut and make his brain melt. He pulls her, so she's sitting across his thighs, and she lets him hold her head in place, until he needs to breathe. He pants and feels dizzy, and wonders would continuing this be a good idea, here and now, in a place with at least half dozen cameras lurking around.

"Giving up on me?" she teases gently.

"You're saying you'd use an injured, incapacitated man?"

"You're hardly incapacitated. Besides, wouldn't you let me use you?"

He bites his tongue before answering that.

But, on the record, he would.

"Want to be fully functional," he nuzzles his nose against hers, enjoying the fact that he can do this, that she's letting him. "Wouldn't you like that?"

She moves away, enough to take a better look at him, and he can feel his heart dropping, but just before it's sunk all the way into the pit of his stomach, she kisses his forehead, and he takes hope in the gentleness of her gesture.

"You're not in your right mind," she says.

"No. Happens around you a lot," he knows he's blurting, but he knows she _knows_. He also knows thats he's scared of it, but if that kiss is any sign, then he shouldn't abandon hope just yet. "Ria," he says, trying out her name, the feel of it, the way her face changes when he says it. She runs for cover, not literally, but there was _something_ there. He doesn't dare naming that particular microexpression.

"I should get you home. Or better yet, to the doctor."

He sighs. It's probably the best he'll get tonight, but she offers to take care of him. He's not going to protest.

"Only if you kiss me goodnight later," he says.

She looks at him for a moment before she smiles.

"I'll tuck you in, too," she says. "Come on, I'll help you get up."

* * *

She doesn't take him to the doctor. He insists that he doesn't need it, because he already had a concussion, and knows how that feels. This, supposedly, is not it, and he's being stubborn and slightly obnoxious, so she gives in and takes him home. He seems fine enough, except the cuts and bruises. Ria knows it's a bad idea following him in, but the thought of him, beaten and bruised fumbling through the medical cabinet in bathroom all alone leaves her unsettled. She discards his reassuring and walks inside looking for gauzes and peroxide while he sits on the bathtub rim. She turns around, with a gauze in her hand, and Eli suddenly seems so fragile. She walks to him slowly, this way she's taller, and he looks up at her. There's a cut under his eye that she hadn't noticed back in the office.

"Eli," she says quietly, packing a lot more into that single word, his name. She usually doesn't say his name, but right now she can't call him anything else. He manipulated that guy into beating him, instead of her, and it took courage _and_ brains to push the right buttons and make him so mad to lose it. She is pretty certain he saved her from really bad things she'd rather not think about. Eli bought some time and created a distraction, and Lightman could crash inside with calvary. Eli took it all on himself, like some goddamn hero and that is only a part of it, why she's worried and pissed at him.

It's not _just that_.

"He was going to hit you," he says as she starts patting his face.

"You don't know that."

"I _do_ know that, and you know I know it," he answers stubbornly. She can't say he's completely wrong, she's been scared as hell, but still, she doesn't want him beaten up. That guy – if Cal and the police hadn't arrived in time – that guy would have... She tells herself not to go there, not to think about that, not to replay the scene in her head. He was on the floor, curled, and the guy was kicking him with his foot wherever he reached. Her hand pauses and Eli touches her face, as if knowing what's going through her mind.

He probably does know.

She doesn't tell him, just as Cal doesn't tell him, but Eli's skills at reading people are flawless. Eli, oh, he gives himself too little credit sometimes. She turns her face into his palm and the moment is quiet and tight, and she just breathes him in, before she can move.

"Let me see you," she says, coming even closer and inside of his personal space. He was kicked in his stomach and punched around, and she wants to make sure there aren't cuts and broken things under his clothes. Yes, just that. A moment before she starts unbuttoning his shirt she just looks at him, and he looks at her, and when he doesn't say anything, and doesn't move away, she takes it as a quiet yes. Her fingers fumble with the buttons and he helps her, until the shirt is off and down on the floor. There's a patch of red on his chest, and it will probably turn into a bruise even before tomorrow. Ria touches it lightly and he gasps.

"I'm sorry," she says.

"It doesn't hurt," he answers, looking down at her hand. "Not really." He looks back into her eyes.

She breathes, feeling like she's taking in the details for the first time – he is thin, thinner than he looks in his clothes, and he has dust of freckles on his shoulders. His eyes are clear, and strikingly green, and huge under the bathroom light; his pupils are blown. She knows what it means, knows this look on his face and the beating of her own heart, and thinks how he put himself in front of her, how he lets her tease him, just to make her smile, how he brings her coffee, how he challenges her to be better.

It feels like it's time for her to allow him to do so. She lets him pull her closer, until her palms are on his shoulders and his hands splay on her lower back. His skin is warm and her hands are cold and his breath is hot against her abdomen, when he buries his face against her. She runs her fingers through his hair, pulls and makes him look up as she frowns at him, at his battle scars, and thinks how he shouldn't bear them.

"Do I look that bad?" he smirks, but she remains calm; calm and serious as she moves closer to him. She kisses him slowly, feeling the increased press of his palms, they way he wants her to come even closer, the way he needs more. Then he pulls away, looks at her with emotions raw and open on his face.

"We better stop this right now," his breath is strained, and voice sounds rough. She swallows, she probably should listen to him, but she doesn't want to. She wants that voice, and his palms, wants to feel him, solid and alive. But it's more than that. It's more, there's more.

"No," she shakes her head slightly, stroking his lips with her thumb and pulling them apart. He swallows, looking at her with hope and disbelief and longing and something in her breaks apart. Her finger traces the cut on his lip so gently, and she says, "Just give me the best you've got."

In the morning it's not even awkward. She untangles herself from his sheets, tells herself it was a stupid idea, she tells herself to shut up. She can see a newly formed bruise under his eye as he peacefully sleeps. She thinks how this is all backwards, but she doesn't want to flee like last time, either.

"Eli," her voice is low and soft. He wakes after few nudges, frowns at her and then smiles, then rolls over onto his back in his naked glory and she has to tear her eyes from yet another bruise.

"'this the part when you go?" he asks sleepily.

She waits a heartbeat, her face close to his.

"I need to change my clothes."

"You can have mine," he says and makes her laugh a little, despite her best intentions. He rubs his eyes and then they're looking at each other.

"They're not really my style."

"Yeah, you're ridiculously color – matched."

"Sad and boring, I know," she says, and knows she better go, before he pulls her back and convinces her to stay. "Loker," she's back to his last name, because it feels safer. "I'm not sneaking out."

"And not leaving earrings behind," he adds.

"No," she says. It sounds too final, and she's not really sure she wants that.

Her hand still lingers on his chest.

"I just need -" she sighs.

"A little time?" he offers, looking both scared and hopeful, and she is glad that he doesn't look hurt. She doesn't want him to be hurt.

"I can work with that," he says and there's that cute smile and she knows he will be tagging behind her, like a puppy. It will be okay.

"Good," she says.

"Good," he agrees.

He walks her to the door and promises her lunch, she allows him a peck on the lips and knows she hadn't seen the last of Eli Loker and his advances.

She doesn't know half of it yet.

TBC.


	2. Chapter 2

**The second chapter is here! Thank you everyone, for reading, reviewing and putting to favorites the first chapter of this story. :) I hope you'll enjoy this chapter as well. **

* * *

Two days later he saunters inside with bruised face, wearing his usual disarray of patterns and she barely contains a smile. She walks to him with a cup of coffee and ignores the tiny leap of her heart. They share an awkward little gaze between them, before he grins and takes the cup from her hand. Everything is okay between them, they're friends and colleagues and she can deal with that.

"You look better," she says, regarding his face. She won't tell him but she sees how different the bruise looks, shades and shapes and the cut beneath his eye looking less angry than two days before. She texted him and he texted her back a joke. It was okay, really.

"Wow Torres, is that blatant flattery I hear?" he asks in his usual manner, only the words lack the sting of the sarcasm he often uses as defense. She smiles, resisting to tuck in his collar,

"Saying I like that sweater with that shirt would be flattery," she says. He laughs and she laughs too, and it feels good and just a little skewed, like a picture frame hanging tilted on the wall. It will fall back in its place. She tells herself not to think of his smile, or how attractive he looks under those silly clothes.

"So, what's new?" he asks sipping the coffee and leaning against his desk.

"I've got a case," she says, looking at his raised eyebrows.

"Wow, that was fast," he smiles. She raises her chin triumphantly, because of their race between taught science and natural gift, and the fact that she's taken a small, small lead.

"Wanna sit outside the cube?" she asks.

* * *

She walks inside at her usual pace, but Eli suspects right away, that there is something about this particular client, that's making her nervous. Even though he usually sits outside the cube, recording and observing the interrogation, Ria normally doesn't ask for it. Eli slides lower in his chair, looking at the two people inside the brightly lit interrogation space, and then casts his eyes onto the split computer screen. There it is, in the corner of her mouth, just for a tiniest second, a micro expression of honesty that she couldn't suppress. Suddenly it's clear that she'd rather be outside than in there.

He flips open the copy of the file; Victor Hudson, an actor, suspected at beating up his wife in front of their six month – old son. The woman in the hospital, lying in coma cannot tell her version of the event and the child currently under care of social service. Eli looks up at Ria, her fitting clothes, immaculate expression and tightly pulled black hair. It hits all kind of buttons. He sighs.

Eli sees how she strains not to tap her foot, he sees her palm pressed flat against the surface of the table, as she goes through the questions. _Where were you at day A the time B, she asks, who can confirm they saw you, isn't that just a convenient excuse, going for a walk all alone?_ She is like a dog of war unleashed when Lightman walks in as silently watches as the interrogation goes on.

Eli already knows the reasoning of his boss – Ria needs to deal with it. Part of him sees that logic and agrees. Part of him thinks it's unnecessary, for couple of reasons, but you don't get to work with Cal Lightman if you expect to be protected from any and all kinds of shit.

"How's it going?" asks Lightman and Eli frowns just slightly, eyes intent on the screen.

"Good. She got us a baseline, and just got onto important bits. So far his story seems to check out."

"Is that so?" Lightman regards him with that typical scrutiny that usually makes him flinch and second guess, but he is at his playground here. He's not the one who push – push – pushes things to happen, he sits and observes.

However, with this one Ria isn't getting much headway, and Eli can see that she's not succeeding to force him out in the open, but rather to stumble into a corner herself.

"Nothing suspicious so far. It doesn't seem that he's lying," Eli says, shaking his head slightly as they continue to observe (_Why did you hit your wife, Mr. Hudson?_ ) and Lightman lets it go on, until Hudson tells her to screw herself if she's trying to prove him guilty, after she asked him to retell his timeline backwards and didn't buy the excuse of being too drunk to remember. "However he's a professional liar," he adds.

Lightman tilts his head toward the thick glass, "And she's biased."

Eli holds his thought and keeps observing, holds back a sigh. _She_ wouldn't want anyone else doing this. Sometimes he thinks Ria deserves Cal Lightman and everything he can dish out.

Later, Hudson storms out, almost crashing into Lightman and calling him and his little helper incompetent, as Eli waits, leaned against the desk. Ria walks slowly, so obviously exhausted, and he catches her eye briefly. She looks away. Lightman regards them both before leaving, criticism laced with disapproval.

"I like that you called him," Lightman tilts his head in Loker's direction, using his entire body for conversation, just as he always does. "That's smart," he says, but it sounds more condescending than anything else. He is pushing, just as Ria does – pushing to prove him wrong and expecting her to resist. It works for them, for her, she thrives on these kind of challenges. "I want a full analysis of the recording," he says to both of them and walks out.

Ria seems to shrink into herself for a moment when he's gone. Eli knows she doesn't feel allright, but she'd rather die than confess that out loud. Just as Lightman expects, she copes, using her hands and nails and teeth. Bad thing is, this doesn't look like a case they'll solve easily.

Before she's out of the room, Eli lets his eyes linger on her.

* * *

"Ria," it's Gillian's voice, soft and smooth and entirely too comforting. Ria looks up, and knows all too well why Gillian is here. There's something about Gillian that disarms everyone. With everyone else she usually wants to fight or flee, with Gillian neither can be done. She has a certain presence that calms the storm. "You've been here a long time."

Gillian is here to send her away, and Ria has no doubt in her mind that she will succeed. With Lightman or Eli (Loker, she corrects herself in her mind), she'd fight and storm out, holding onto her pride and convincing them she's unbreakable. But, there's no fooling Gillian, there's not even willpower in her to try. Perhaps Gillian will put an indefinite stop to it and take her off this, and she admits to herself, that wouldn't be bad at all.

"Not long enough," she says, frowning and accepting that she messed this one up. Now both her head and her body are rebelling. Gillian pulls up a chair and sits close to her. Sometimes Gillian's face looks like any problem in the world could be solved.

"I think you've done everything you could," Gillian says calmly. "Everyone has their limits. It's good to know where they are," she says.

"Hudson will walk free," Ria responds. It's eating her alive. That's all she's thinking about lately, and it's been weeks, and all she can think of, is that if she'd been better, level headed, fucking impartial, then she could have stopped him.

"I need a favor," says Gillian after some silence. Classic deflecting. She slides a narrow envelope toward Ria, to open it, and Ria does.

"A banquet?" she asks, frowning. In past few weeks she had forgotten things like that existed on the outside.

Gillian sighs and Ria notices how tired she looks. There have been four other cases and Gillian has been working alone, most of the time. She catches herself before she succumbs into guilty feelings over it all. That doesn't help. Gillian continues, "I really don't feel like going, and Cal doesn't either," she says and Ria notes how her lips quirk up when she mentions Cal. Even this tired, her face lights up when she mentions Lightman. Not that it's new, it's just different, that way she says his name. There's something there, but Ria is too tired to follow up, she stores the notion for a later time. "Anyway, I'd really appreciate it."

Ria contemplates the invitation, written in golden letters on a fine piece of paper. "Date is required?" she asks casually, and thinks, where's she supposed to find a date until tomorrow?

The quirk of Gillian's lips turns into a brilliant smile. "If you don't feel like being in the center of attention of various self important men who are powerful, but not very pretty – then date is definitely advised."

"Wow. Sounds like fun."

"They're clients, and this is an annual thing. Someone has to go."

"I see."

Ria contemplates.

Anything is better than Hudson case.

Even a date she can find.

Oh, she can definitely find a date.

"Okay," she says. Gillian briefly holds her hand and in her eyes Ria can see that she's completely thankful, that this seemingly trivial favor means so much to her for some reason.

"Go find a pretty dress and have some fun. Take your mind off this, okay?" Gillian says, getting up and leaving gracefully.

* * *

Eli is about to go home when she walks in, uncharacteristically nervous.

"Ria?" he asks. He can't shake the habit of calling her by her name that he's gotten into. "What are you still doing here?" he asks, although he knows – she's gotten over that last tape _again_, she had analyzed every second of it, back and forth, and didn't find anything yet again.

"I was, uh, finishing a report," she says. He doesn't like how pale she looks, how her hair hides her face. "Listen," her fingers run up her arm and she presses her lips together before she looks up at him, composing herself and showing him that impenetrable mask. "Foster asked me if I could go to that banquet instead of her."

Even before she's done saying it, Eli can't help but smirk. The mask on her face slips for a tiniest fraction of second, and it's small moments like that, when he thinks they connect, that he can't just _let it go_ even though he should.

"Wow, Torres," he switches to her last name, creates a safe distance so he can tease her safely. "Am I a pity – date?"

"Loker, you wound me," she shoots back, amusement sneaking into her eyes, and he's glad that it seems genuine.

"I don't wish to wound you," he says, in overly dramatic manner. She's been walking and worked herself into the ground. He wanted to help her, but with Ria everything was a game of patience. He settled for bringing her coffee and dragging her out to eat.

"Good, then you'll go?" she says, making her voice light, stepping away just slightly. He shoves his hands deep into his pockets and narrows his eyes, regarding her.

"You're on," he says.

TBC. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**New chapter - I hope you'll enjoy. Thank you for your comments (let me know your thoughts!), they're truly precious and they make me happy. Cookies for those who find all movie references!**

* * *

She lets Eli steal her away. She even lets him make bad Disney related jokes about it, retorts making "Beauty and the Beast" jokes herself and he laughs.

The event is a disaster in terms of entertainment. They greet everyone they have to, keep themselves polite and focused, and Ria ignores the unpleasant way she feels, until she can't stand in those shoes any more. Eli is considerate enough, she takes off the heels in his car and lets the passing streetlights lull her.

She tries not to think. It's something she's never been good at.

She doesn't mind sitting in a small, quiet twenty minutes later. The place is quiet, they have coffee and apple pie, but she can't force herself to swallow it down. Eli, for once, is being entertaining and just mildly annoying. She's aware that he's doing more looking (at her, after her) than talking, and she can't decide yet how she feels about it. Something – something feels like it's dragging her down, like a ball chained around her ankle.

It's been weeks, she tells herself. Let it go.

"Are you going to eat that?" Eli asks, eyes intent on her plate.

"Wow Loker," she keeps her face straight when she wants to smile at him, "first you decide it's okay to take me places against my will, and now you want my food too? A classy date you are," she says, but slides her plate between them even as she's saying it.

"Yeah, evil, heartless, brutal, and all that. That's me, all over. I'll also make you work nonstop," he says over a mouthful of pie. Her eyes linger on a small piece stuck on his lower lip. "I am your boss after all," he says and she rolls her eyes.

In last few weeks he's been a friend more than anything else (colleague, pain in the ass, part – time lover she _doesn't_ need, most annoying person on Earth. That guy who brings her coffee.). It's been easy and natural and wrapped up in that case as she had been, she didn't ponder much about it all. Somehow they ended up here.

"The lack of your correctness never fails to amaze me," she replies, even as she feels too tired to bicker with him.

"I'm glad I meet your expectations," he answers contently. "Come on, eat that," he says, nudging the plate back to her. There's more than half of the pie left on it, and it's quite uncharacteristic, these subtle, quiet touches. He's usually as subtle as a brick.

"I -"

"Look, Ria," he takes a napkin and pats his mouth in a way that goes with his clothes and hair and girly drinks. His voice and eyes are completely confident, serious, and it feels like solid footing. "The guy is a bastard. He is probably innocent, though, and I seriously doubt you made a mistake, even though it was -" he pauses, looks at his hands, "hard on you. I don't think you missed something. He's not worth losing your appetite over."

"What about the kid?" she asks. Darkness settles in his gaze – she's aware that he knows bits and pieces of her history, that you can't really keep a secret in a place like Lightman group; and he is smart enough to assume that she sees herself in every abused child. She braces herself for whatever he's about to say, surprised when he doesn't resort to his trademark bluntness.

"You can't save entire world," he says, but his words, along with his eyes carry a lot more. "Some kids... end up with asshole parents. The world is not just, we don't get to chose, don't make me quote Lord of the Rings now too," he says and looks at her softly (and any other time she'd call him out on that, or cut it back with a sharp response, but this time, she doesn't.)

"Should have saved that kid," she replies dryly. "That kid," she says and thinks, _who's gonna love him?_.

He lets it pass and plays with his cup of tea (though the way he looks at her makes her believe that he _knows_ and for a moment she wonders about him, about his father), then after some silence looks up, narrowing his eyes at her.

"How is baby – Torres, by the way?"

Ria looks up – presses her lips together but them melt into a smile, a sad one; because it's as blunt -as he could be, and she finds it both endearing and annoying – it's kind of sweet to bring this up, just now. It's right. Ria thinks of Ava's irresponsible mother, of their no - good father; she thinks of split sandwiches and math lessons and teaching Ava letters. It still hurts in her chest.

Ria knows she _is_ helping Ava now – visiting, calling every week, regularly talking to Ava's advisor and paying her tuition. It helps with the guilt, too.

"Ava's pretty well, thank you," she says, quieting her thoughts. "She... she has pretty good grades. There's been a few problems at the beginning, but she adjusted, I think," she says and even though Eli doesn't ask anything, she keeps going, telling him more, and more, until she tells him about math lessons and first letters and he doesn't comment when her voice becomes a little shaky.

"Thought it'd turn out well," he says quietly.

"She's safe," Ria nods along.

"She's safe thanks to you," he adds. She gives him a long look, one he holds, and she thinks she sees something that's been simmering beneath all the jokes through entire evening. "Now, come on, eat that," he says before her mind can run away down memory lane." I'd like to take you home before you fall asleep right here. I'd hate to carry you around. Come on, I don't want to feed you."

She half glares. The grin on his face is endearing and the look he's giving her both tender and flirty , and it feels better than it should.

"Counter transference," he says as he watches her eat. She looks up at him, slightly confused as he slides into his know – it – all mode.

"What about it?" she asks. The pie tastes too sweet, _too much_.

"The influence a patient can have on therapists subconscious feelings," he explains. "And bring up repressed issues."

"I know what it is, Loker," she says. Lightman made her read and learn, and her knowledge is still expanding. She feels like she's constantly learning, even though she's good at what she does (she _knows_ so), but every now and then she is reminded that it's not enough.

Eli raises an eyebrow, expecting her to say something. She heaves a heavy sigh and scrutinizes the tabletop beneath her fingers, before she looks back at him with an equal expression. She knows what he's trying to tell her, though.

"You know, they used to think one can't possibly use it in therapy," he says. Smart words simply fit him. "However, modern theories assume that one must be aware of counter transference and know the way it works to use it in therapeutic process. It's a powerful tool," he says.

She points with her fork at him, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger?"

"Basically, yes," he says and keeps looking at her. "Knowing what you can't work with is a good start."

She pokes at her pie quietly, doesn't want to discuss it any further. He keeps looking at her; intently, with just enough affection she can handle. He's closer than she wants him to be, and at the same time she doesn't want him to go away. It's puzzling and unsettling.

"You can have that," she says, and nudges the piece towards him.

"This feels like a Disney – scene," he comments as he eats the last bits of pie.

* * *

She's asleep. He pulls over, and just sits there, watching her and then watching away. For a moment he just wants to stay here with her – because he likes being with her, even though she keeps him on his toes and sometime teases him cruelly.

He likes that she's like this – calm and seemingly content. Nothing is worrying her right now. He swallows and moves closer (her hair smells like roses, like roses and fruit and her), nudging her gently.

"Ria," he whispers. His hand lingers on her shoulder. "Ria, wake up."

She stirs and sighs and looks at him, disoriented at first. She's not tired, she's _exhausted_.

"Hey," he says. She gives him an apprehensive look, then moves, further away from him. "You're home," he says. She just nods, and all he wants is to hold her close, but as it usually is, he has to let her go.

"Thank you Eli," she's out of his grasp when she says it, standing beside his car, but there's gentleness in her voice. He smiles at her before they part.

* * *

Ria wakes with a start. She heard the ringing – she thinks – but it's still dark around her. The air feels sticky and heavy around her, and the bedside alarm clock is glaring, telling her it's three a.m. Her chest feels heavy, her head hurts, her eyes won't pry apart. She's thirsty. She sits up.

She's suddenly dizzy, and the glass of water on her bed-stand, too far, the droplets too cold.

And then, she's sick, terribly sick, and the bathroom almost too far away.

By the time she feels better, she's completely awake. The floor tiles are cold under her palms, and the shiver going through her entirely not good, strange, different. She takes slow, slow breaths, but her stomach refuses to calm down and she curses the pie and wonders if Eli's throwing up, like she is.

The too sweet taste and apples and bitterness are still in her mouth when her mind calms and clears enough – she looks at the bathroom counter and in the back of her head, something clicks into place, and she thinks, _counts_ -

"_How is baby – Torres, by the way?"_ -

His voice echoes, but the meaning changes. Her stomach flips and she barely keeps from throwing up again.

It feels like hitting the ground, hard. Like opening eyes under cold water and then going up for air.

"It can't -"

But it can. It is. She's always been healthy, her – oh God – her periods regular, even under worst stress; she's never been tired and off balance like this.

She swallows and blinks and looks toward the counter wondering if there is an all night working pharmacy anywhere near her.

TBC.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Fourth chapter - reviews are loved and appreciated. Enjoy and thank you for reading! **_

* * *

It's quite dark outside. Gillian's palm is flat against the cold glass surface of the window. She should go home. However she is still here – lingering and – what she doesn't quite admit to herself – waiting for Cal. If anything, she doesn't want to worry him, even now when he's, in a way, entitled worry about her. (Cal never waited to be _entitled_.) Finally, when he walks inside her office, he finds her rearranging the books, and just watches her for a moment as he stands there.

"Thought you'd go home by now, love," he says softly and she turns to face him. "Didn't you say you were going to do that?"

She looks at him, long, before answering. She should just talk to him about it.

"I was looking for something here," she says, not looking at him, but then she turns around to face him. Cal observes her and she knows he won't miss anything. She never had a problem that he could read her, she was aware that he could, just as she could read him – and in all honesty, she was looking for something, here (just not on that bookshelf). "And I didn't want to go home," she says.

"Didn't want to go home alone," he adds fondly, and she can't argue with that. She looks at him for a moment before she nods, and then waits. Cal observes her a little bit longer.

"That's correct," she says and gives him a sad smile.

It's as simple as it should be, she thinks, when he walks up to her and wraps his arms around her and she relaxes. It feels like letting out a breath she's been holding in for way too long, for days. With his arms comes comfort, and she decides she should let this go, that it's just as he told her, not her fault.

"I'm sorry, love," he says, like it's him who somehow disappointed her.

"Don't be silly," she says. "It's not your fault. I – let myself get carried away. Should have -"

He holds her chin with his fingers.

"It was a normal reaction," he counters gently. That, and she was excited, and happy about the possibility.

"- should have checked," she replies, but he pulls her even closer and leans his cheek against her forehead.

"I know. I'm sorry, love," he says softly. After few moments of silence she moves to look at him – she wants to see his face when she asks this -

"Really? Do you really mean that?" she asks. His face is calm and completely honest, and she can see in his eyes what most people miss out when it comes to him. He nods, and even before he speaks, she knows he's telling the truth – and knowing he would have accepted it, the change that comes with it all, _the parenthood_. Something she admits herself as she looks at him - something she still wants. Cal's words, the way he says them, the inflection of his voice makes her feel a little better about her faux – pas.

He smiles, kisses her forehead.

"I really mean it," he says, and knowing him, he knows how much she needs to hear it. "Are we good now?" he asks warmly and she nods. It's been days, but this means that the last page of the book is closed. She has accepted the loss, even though it wasn't a real loss to begin with – but right now it feels she has gained something infinitely precious.

"We're very good," she says.

"Wanna go home now?" he offers as his fingers wrap around her hand, and yes, she likes that idea, because of all people in the world, Cal is her favorite company. She smiles. "Glad you didn't go to that party, eh?"

"Cal, you can barely call that a party."

"I know love. I _almost_ feel sorry for Loker," he says (and doesn't really mean it), but she nudges him with her elbow.

"I'm sure he'll behave better than you usually do," she says.

They smile as they walk down the hall.

* * *

In the morning Ria can't stop thinking about it.

She's terrified and still in shock, even as she drives to work, trying to wrap her head around the notion. It's too big to fit in her mind, and part of her doesn't believe it – doesn't _want_ to believe it. She thinks, it must be a mistake. It can't be real – but every now and then there's a mild wave of physical unease, tension in her breasts (it was there before, but now she notices it, and knows what it is) and she knows her own body doesn't lie. She hadn't made a test, yet, but she is certain. Her body is stubbornly punctual. She was never late, ever, not under amounts of stress, not when ill, never. It just can't be a coincidence.

The realization finds her unprepared and leaves her numb, and it's like watching her own life unfold in front of her eyes in slow motion. An eerie feeling, like that moment when you realize you're about to die – seeing the whole life you lived, like saying goodbye on a short notice, too quickly. She's not ready for this. She doesn't want this – a - _she can't even finish the thought in her mind_.

She sees the life she wouldn't be living, imagines responsibilities and taking care of someone helpless; shaping and forming and raising a _person_. She sees way and chances of ruining that him or her, something she'd never forgive herself. She's terrified. She can't do this, she can't do it right.

Sure, she can end it, right? It's still early enough, she still has time, ...

And for a short few moments she thinks about ending it, going to the doctor, _right now_ terminating it while it's still early enough.

... but, she swallows thickly and thinks, it has the potential of becoming a person, a real boy or a girl, with dark hair and green eyes and perhaps, perhaps curly hair.

_Oh God._

She can't just get rid of mental image in her mind - herself and Loker, and oh my God, that morning, and he was bruised and adorable, and how he smiled at her, how he kissed her - and she knew then, knew it was wrong, and that it was going to end badly. And just look how it turned out.

She arrives to work and runs past people, thanks the universe and God that Loker somehow isn't around or in the lab, while she's trying to catch breath. It goes okay at first, only people wear perfumes, the smell of coffee is too heavy, and when she sees food she feels ill. (When she thinks about it, she feels ill, and she can't stop thinking about it.)

Soon enough she feels dizzy and needs air and the floor is spinning under her feet. The bathroom seems too small, walls shrinking in. She holds onto something – the sink – and thinks it's supposed to happen, she's supposed to feel like this now -

Because she's _pregnant_. (She says the word in her own head. Pregnant. _Pregnantpregnantpregnant._)

She can't stop it from repeating in her mind, and she closes her eyes, but it's still there, echoing in the silence.

Ria has no idea how much time has passed, but Anna gives her a weird look as she passes by with a stack of files in her hands. Ria touches her own cheek, realizing it's wet and then sees Loker on the other end of the hallway. He stops when he sees her, opening his mouth, about to call her and she just can't deal with him in any way. Like a ticking bomb, she thinks. He's like a mirror. She can see on him what he sees on her. Of course he spots it, he sees it all, right away. For a moment she feels like he knows everything with just one piercing gaze, and she automatically turns the other way. He, of course, follows.

"Torres?" he calls after her, then slightly more concerned, "Ria?"

"Not now, Loker," she says, and there, crossing the distance between Lightman's office to hers, she sees Gillian. Loker catches up, uses his hand to turn her around, and then they're standing face to face and she can barely look at him.

"You okay?" he asks, and all she can is stare into his eyes. He's not being annoying as he can be, there's just honest concern in his gaze. She swallows and wrecks her brain, searching for a lie he won't buy, just something to make him go away, but she comes up with nothing.

"Not now, Eli," she says, stares at his shirt and the ridiculous contrast of stripes and dots; the perpetual, never fully grown boy. How – how could he be -

"Ria?" Gillian is close enough to see it all, her face, and Loker's hand on her shoulder, and the way they're looking at each other. "Ria?" Gillian calls her again. She turns apologetic eyes to Loker and lets Gillian pull her away. When she turns to look at Loker once again, and knows he can see fear on her face, just as she can read resentment on his. That hurts her more than she expects.

The quiet of Gillian's office settles over her. Right now, it's a sanctuary, and unlike everyone else Gillian doesn't push. She doesn't want to know things right away. Gillian walks over to sit on the sofa, looking at Ria with worry and compassion that Ria knows are honest. She needs a moment, though, she needs to breathe. She knows she will tell Gillian what's going on.

"Ria?" the voice is soft, echoing, not really a question. It feels more like a calling home and Ria turns around. "Are you okay?"

Ria crosses her arms under her breasts, realizing they're sore, realizing that her body has already changed. Panic rises within her, because it's already slipping away from her control.

"No. Not really," she barely has a voice. "No."

"What happened?"

"I -" she looks around Gillian's office, fighting against detachment that's covering her like a shroud. She's here, but it feels like she's not really here, and then world comes back, or rather she comes back to world, crashing, when she looks at Gillian. "I – I'm – I'm pregnant," she says. "I think. Um, I'm pretty sure."

With a classic expression of surprise Gillian lets out a small breath. Then she is up on her feet, walking across the carpet, and Ria just wants to be held – just for a moment, and it scares her, and almost hurts, but not physically. But neither of them move, she just stares at Gillian's eyes before everything is a blur.

Ria feels hands pulling her to sit on the sofa, and there's Gillian's warm hand on her knee, and slowly, Ria calms enough to look at the other woman. There's something sad, almost dark in Gillian's eyes, but it goes away so quickly, and Ria wonders if she saw it right. The face in front of her is something familiar and safe and Ria tells herself to breathe.

"What do you want?" asks Gillian softly. The question rattles Ria so much, that she can't respond at first, because what she _wants_ is contradicting and frightening, and she can't even think of it. "Do you want to keep -"

"No," Ria's answer is quick and immediate. It's panic, with fear beneath it, an irrational, completely emotional response; but that is just one layer. There are other emotions too, entirely more frightening. Ria takes a breath, looking at Gillian; she doesn't _want_ a baby, not now. She had never planned this, it wasn't supposed to happen, but then her brain just follows the thoughts and emotions and new tears start to well up in her eyes.

"You don't want to terminate the pregnancy," says Gillian carefully. Ria swallows, it's a statement of what she feels beneath her fear and confusion. She frowns,

"I – I don't want it," she says, licking her dry lips. "I can't have it. It's -" the pitch of her voicen quivers in the quiet of the office, her short breaths between them, and her own thoughts sound ridiculous. "- it's wrong timing, I don't have space for a baby in my life, I don't have -" Ria stops, thinking, _don't have a father for it_, because she and Loker, it's just not -

She stops, looks up, catching that glimpse of something across Gillian's face and bites her lip. There's conversation beneath the conversation, there always is.

"No – no, Ria, don't feel guilty for me. It's not your fault."

"But you -"

Even if the story of the baby – photograph in Gillian's office was never told out loud, Ria knows about the adoption that didn't work out. It's hard keeping secrets in place like this one, and Gillian doesn't really treat it as a secret. (A secret would imply something shameful.)

"No," Gillian shakes head, her eyes following Ria's, toward the framed picture sitting on the desk. She looks back at Ria, "This is about you," says Gillian softly. "Stop apologizing."

"I'm not," Ria sniffs and Gillian smiles.

"Your face is," she says gently. It makes Ria smile in return.

Taking a deep breath, Ria lets one hand slide down onto her stomach. She leaves it there only a moment, and removes her palm before any connection can be established.

"I just – I can't just get rid of my baby."

"Your baby," Gillian repeats softly. Ria looks up. "Your _baby_."

Ria swallows. She knows all about voice inflections and words people use, knows what Gillian is trying to tell her. It's not just a mistake that happened by accident. It's a baby. It's, oh God, it's her baby.

There's short silence before Gillian asks,

"Are you in a relationship with someone?"

Ria gives her a startled look. She isn't, not technically, but it isn't the whole truth. There is no clear cut, black or white fact, because there's _something_, there's a connection and that night from five weeks ago. But then there's a work related issue and the fact that Eli is, technically, her superior, which makes all of this even more messed up.

"It's not – not really a relationship," Ria says and wonders what her face is saying, because Gillian leans forward. She trusts Gillian – she does – and doesn't want to say it, and at the same time feels she's going to explode. "God, this sucks," she says.

"Ria? Is it someone -"

Ria doesn't let her finish. If this job taught her something, it's the unforgiving nature of the truth, the way it always comes out, comes back to chase you. There's no point in hiding, there's no point in even trying.

"Eli, we -"

It barely comes out.

"Oh," Gillian takes her hand. There's nothing judgmental or negative on her face.

The silence is thick and perfect and it feels like snow. Under snow, all earth looks flawless. Ria feels her muscles relaxing, realizes that at some point Gillian grasped her hand and didn't let go.

"I don't want to tell him just yet. I can't -"

"- deal with it all at once. I understand," Gillian's hand is both firm and soft and all Ria wants is to stay here. She doesn't want to go beyond that door.

Gillian offers her something just as good.

"Let me take you home," she says.

* * *

Eli tries not to think about her, but it keeps coming back, the expression on Ria's face when Gillian lead her away. It's rare to see Torres like that, with open fear written all over her face.

He lasts until the evening. When she doesn't come back in the afternoon, when she doesn't even call – they were supposed to have a lunch date - he becomes worried. Ria might play hard to get with him, but when it comes to actual plans they've made, she respects them. The fact that she looked so _bad_ and didn't call him, makes him worried. Worried enough to go and check on her.

He knocks and when she doesn't answer, he tries the door handle. To his surprise, the door opens. His heart speeds up, with all kinds of bad scenarios and he enters, calling for her. When she doesn't answer his throat tightens, and then he hears sounds coming from direction of her bathroom.

"Ria?" he calls. Before he can enter there – which he does hesitate, even though he saw her without anything on, twice – she opens the door, and he immediately sees the paleness of her face and the way she's holding onto the door frame.

"Loker," she swallows and stares at him, surprised and – scared?

"Ria, are you feeling okay?" he asks.

"Yeah, fine. Peachy," she says and he doesn't have to be a walking lie detector to know that's a blunt lie. "Go away," her voice is harder than he expects, and there's underlying something that upsets him, which is why he doesn't move.

"You don't look peachy," he says. It sounds stupid. She rolls her eyes at him.

"Always good with compliments, are you?"

"I'm not cheap with compliments, when they're in order," he says softly. "You don't look good."

And last thing she wants is someone worried over her. That's just the way she is. But she looks really, really bad.

"Loker, just leave, I can take care -"

Before she finishes, she covers her mouth and runs back inside the bathroom. He's standing there dumbly, realizing that she's throwing up. He walks in, and stands beside her disregarding her requests to go away. The sight of her doubled over on the floor hits him in the chest; this is Ria, and he had never seen her look so frail. Before his better judgment kicks in, he's kneeling next to her, holding back her hair. He feels her body's attempt to protest and push him away, but she's too weak.

"Want me to call a doctor?" he asks. She leans back into him, heavily, and shakes her head.

"Goddamnit Loker," she says. He knows that she doesn't want him to see her like this, but he can't leave her.

"I don't care how you look like right now," he says.

"Such relief," she lifts her hand and he sees a glass of water on the sink. He moves to get it for her, but doesn't let her go; brings the glass to her lips. Her hands shake a little as she drinks.

"Glad we got that settled," he says. Her eyelids are closed. She looks tired. "Bed?"

She looks at him and he rolls his eyes at her. "I only meant to be a gentleman," he says.

"Lucky me," she answers, but when he starts lifting her, she doesn't protest any more.

"Come on," he knows where the bedroom is, guides her there, takes off her slippers when she settles on the bed.

"Go away," she asks, and there's something in her voice, in the way it cracks, that breaks his heart.

"You're sure?" he says and she nods. "Ria -"

"I won't die, Loker. I just need -"

"Okay," he agrees. He knows her well enough to know when not to push. After squeezing her hand just once he tells her to call him if she needs him, and she says a weak yes. He hopes she'd call him, if she was about to die, otherwise, he knows she'd rather crawl to the bathroom, if needed, but she would take care of herself.

Just before he leaves, Eli glances at her dining table. There's an object there that makes him stop in his tracks, immediately. He thinks, that it's none of his business, but his feet keep moving. The box is small, white and pink, and he can't read the name of the product, because thoughts in his head run into each other. However, he knows what that is. Pregnancy tests all over the world look alike. It's some bizarre way of the universe. As he opens the box he finds one package there, and enough space for another one; one that's missing.

He swallows. His throat goes dry within seconds and now he feels sick – because he _can_ do math, even if he can't think straight. It's been – five weeks since he got beaten up. They – oh God – they didn't use any protection. It's – she is – oh God, is she?

When he comes to himself, she is standing across the room, staring at him. He stares back -

"Are you?"

"Loker -"

"Are you pregnant?" he whispers. He can barely speak. She doesn't say anything, but her eyes fill with tears, and then pieces fall together and line up – the hallway, the way she looked at him earlier today - and he can read the answer written all over her face.

* * *

"What do you want me to say now?" her anger hits him in waves, and the feel of it is almost physical. "That I'm happy?"

He feels beaten, like the air has been pushed out of his lungs. She sits next to him on the sofa, close, but at the same time, so far away.

"You're obviously not," he squeezes out. It's not like he knows what to say either. He can't say how he feels, he doesn't even know how he's feeling. She's staring emptily ahead and pressing her lips together. "I'm sorry," he says, and she looks at him. "Ria -"

"I don't want to talk about it," she closes her eyes, and she looks so tired, and he wants to hug her and run the hell away. Conflicting feelings leave him confused so he just sits there, because his legs refuse to move. That and he's pretty sure he'd be a bastard if he got up and left now.

"If you need anything -" he tires but that only seems to ignite her anger.

"Oh yeah? What will you do, drop by? Are you gonna -" before she can finish she is sick again. With a hand over her moth she runs for the bathroom, and Eli realizes that he's following her as if on autopilot.

He holds her this time, _holds_ her, and keeps her hair away from her face, and feels his heart breaking. He feels scared and responsible for this and lost; he wants to help her, but he doesn't know how.

When she slumps against him, he can feel complete weight of her body and a realization settles within him. She is carrying their child.

It's quiet, and all he can hear is her breathing. Her heart beats fast and hard, he can feel it where her back is pressed against his chest, and it's so real, and it feels so painful, so tight in his own chest.

"Ria," he whispers, wiping her forehead with his hand. He expects her to lash out at him again, but instead she turns her face into his shirt and starts to cry, and for some reason, that feels even worse.

* * *

"Dad."

"What, love?"

"What is Loker doing in front of our house?"

Emily's voice makes Cal look up from newspaper. She's standing near the kitchen window, looking at their frozen driveway under the streetlights. Cal can't see Emily's face, but her entire posture reminds him of an anxious question mark.

"Loker?" Cal walks over and sees for himself – there's the lad, leaning against his car, staring into empty space. He doesn't look well.

_Oh bloody hell_

"Gillian! Would you come here, love?," he calls and waits for the sound of the feet on the stairs. He still needs to get accustomed to that – Gillian up there in his study, doing her paperwork and catching up on research papers. She walks into the kitchen, making the space her own with every move, and then they're all staring at Loker, who looks like a beaten dog.

"I think we may have an emergency," says Gillian. She and Cal are moving toward the door.

"Emergency?" asks Emily walking behind them.

"None of your business, Em," Cal turns around and starts pushing her in the direction of the stairway.

"But-" she protests.

"No, love," he says firmly. "I promise Loker isn't hurt," he adds but Emily doesn't seem convinced. "He will be okay. We just need to talk him through something."

She looks at Cal for a few moments.

"Okay dad."

The girl retreats, but Cal can see she's still suspicious (and she has every right to be. He's even proud, because that's his daughter, and she knows well when something is up). He can't deal with Emily now, he knows the following conversation won't be easy, and he's not entirely sure how to approach this.

Cal faces situations head on, and when he doesn't understand something, he just asks until it's all clear. It's a blunt kind of an approach. Luckily, Gillian saves his grace, she will know what to say. She hired _both_ of them anyway.

Cal opens the door to find his young assistant not moving or reacting in any way. It's God damn cold – it's mid November – and Loker's breath is freezing around his face as he breathes, a sign that he's alive, not petrified.

"Oi, Loker," he calls loudly. Tloker looks up like he realized only then where he's been. "It's cold out there, lad. Come on in," Cal calls.

Cal usually wants to give the poor sod a good shake – right now more than ever. This outcome to the events is hardly unexpected – the part where Loker finally gets to hook up with Torres, but the pregnant part, now that was a surprise. Gillian told him after she took Ria home and came back. Right now Cal watches as Loker crumples in his kitchen chair.

"You talked to her?" his question is direct. Loker looks up and fails to say whatever he meant to. He's a bloody open book. "You talked to her."

"How do you know -" Loker looks between him and Gillian and figures it out. "Of course you know," he takes in Gillian's homey appearance with a little more scrutiny, but makes no remark.

"I think you need a drink," says Cal. Gillian takes a seat opposite to Loker and just sits, while Loker watches his hands on Cal's kitchen table.

"Eli," Gillian's voice is soft and firm at the same time. Cal searches through the cabinet and finds the bottle he was looking for. Now the glasses. Loker doesn't really look like someone who wants to celebrate his way into fatherhood. "Did you talk to Ria?"

He nods.

Cal puts the glass with scotch in front of Loker.

"Eli, what did she say?"

"That I should leave her alone," he says slowly, then takes the drink, takes a sip and frowns on a swallow. "That she needs space."

Gillian nods, "She does." her voice is soft and knowing and she's definitely got this.

"I – I want-" Loker starts.

"It's not about what you want right now," Cal points a finger at him. Wanting is bad. Being scared for one's own arse is bad. It comes out harsh, as it should. "Calm down, mate, that's what you should do. World isn't falling apart." Gillian gives him a half glare, and Loker just looks at him incredulously.

"You're incredible," he says and doesn't mean it as a compliment.

"And you could at least get angry like a man," Cal retorts. Loker opens his mouth to protest, but Gillian's hand on top of his stops him.

"We understand you're upset right now," she starts.

"That's bit of an understatement," Loker answers, sounding a little more like himself.

"What Cal wants to say is that you won't do any good by panicking," she continues patiently. "That if Ria says she needs space right now, it's best to do that, give her space." Gillian says. "She can't handle your panic right now," Gillian explains.

"And if you keep banging on her door, she might just leave them shut," adds Cal.

"I wasn't banging on her door, I went to see if she was fine," Loker needs to take it out on someone. Cal finds it amusing, how he and Torres are actually alike. Good grief, he thinks.

"I understand that," says Gillian. Cal is glad she's here to handle this. "But I think you should give her some breathing room right now. If you start to panic, it will be just an added pressure. She needs to see that you can handle yourself." It takes few moments before the words settle down like dust. Loker takes another swig on entirely too expensive scotch which Cal wouldn't offer him under any other circumstance.

She'll need to see he can handle her too, but Loker isn't ready for that piece of insight right now.

"Oi. You need to man up," says Cal. "Responsibilities come with making babies."

"Are you saying that I should leave her alone and be a responsible – father -" he stumbles over the word, "at the same time?"

"What he means to say is that you should be responsible and, for now, undemanding," says Gillian.

He swallows tightly. "Undemanding. Right," he nods, like it's a beginning of a to – do list Cal would give him on a particularly long case. "Goddamnit," he curses.

Cal sits next to Gillian. Loker is so wrapped up in his own problems and completely misses, or fails to care how close to her Cal is sitting.

"Look. I'm not sayin' it's easy," Cal drops the bravado and speaks calmly, which makes the younger man look up and listen. "But if you ask me, it's worth it," he says and feels Gillian tense slightly, then makes a mental note not to let this burden her too much, even if it means giving pep talks to Loker. Gillian is compassionate, and Cal knows she won't be able to put aside this situation, and what happened to her a week earlier, especially if it proves to be hard for Loker or Torres. He wants to protect her from that, no, he actually wants to make sure she won't go back and over her own failed attempts to have a child, because of this. He's also aware that it will be impossible for her not to think about that, at all.

"I know," says Loker. "I mean, I didn't think - " he stops and sighs, covers his face with his hands. "She doesn't want me there," he says.

"Right now, no, she doesn't," agrees Cal.

"How do you feel?" Gillian asks.

"I -," he removes his hands, shakes his head. "Shocked? I don't know."

"Exactly," cal continues. "She doesn't know either. Now, she's stubborn and she wants to figure it out herself, and you have to let her -"

"But he should show her she can count on him, too," Gillian cuts in.

"And how do I do that, if she pushes me away?" asks Loker.

"Time and patience," Cal says, and Gillian nods. "She will need your help. That's when you have to be a man," he points at him again, and Loker stares at his finger.

Loker lowers his head, but before he does, Cal can see self doubt mixed with fear. Gillian sees it too, because her reaction is flawless.

"She will need your help, Eli," her voice is soft and fragile, and Cal catches the sadness. Not really caring about Loker watching them, he takes Gillian's hand. "She will," she repeats, caring and convincing and perfect.

He nods and drinks the rest of his scotch in silence.

Some time later they both walk Loker to the door. Before he leaves he turns and gives them a curious look.

"Are you guys together? As in – "

Cal decides to ask him sometime if he's the guy who always gets the joke last.

"Goodnight Loker," says Cal and starts pushing him out of the door – if he caught up on this, then he's definitely feeling better.

TBC.


End file.
